What if Faith wasn't a Slayer?
by Union-Jack2.0
Summary: A bunch of shorts about hypothetical situations in which Faith isn’t a Slayer. (Just what it says on the tin.)
1. Going green

What if…Faith wasn't a Slayer?

**Author:** Union-Jack2.0

**Disclaimer:** I own none of the characters here. I won't list who does, 'cause it'd take too long.

**Rating:** Still getting the hang of this new set-up on FFDN…say PG13 in the States, 12 here in England.

**Summary:** A bunch of shorts about hypothetical situations in which Faith isn't a Slayer. (Just what it says on the tin.)

**Author's Notes:** Just a bunch of weird ideas that ambushed me when waking up in the morning. By the way, if you see something you'd like to see as a full-length fic, drop me a review to tell me so and I'll see what I can do. Seriously, I'm willing to have a bash if I know someone's willing to read it.

* * *

**In brightest day…**

"You shall have to do."

Faith, groaning and clutching at her now dry-heaving stomach, turned around to see who was talking to her in the alleyway behind the bar and trying to ignore the stench of the puddle of her vomit. She blinked, shaking her head to try and clear it from the alcoholic haze. Man, she must be really pissed if she was seeing and hearing a blue midget in a red dress. No, not a dress – a smock, or robe. With a green symbol on a white circle.

"Take this."

Faith, very unsteady on her feet, took what the little man was offering. A green ring.

"What the hell am I s'posed to do with this?"

"What you must."

Faith looked up from examining the ring to ask just what the fuck the little blue dude'd been smoking – and found that the midget had vanished.

Now that she thought about it, the ring was too solid to be a hallucination. There was an odd design on the ring; two horizontal parallel lines with a circle sandwiched between.

Faith shrugged. Life was short, and she was definitely over the legal limit. She slipped it on her middle finger.

A second later, a passing office worker on her way home heard the following exclamation accompanied by a strange green flash from the alleyway;

"Holy _shit_! Damn, man…I think my life just got a whole lot more complicated."

* * *

Crossover with DC Comics' _Green Lantern_. 


	2. May the Force be with her

Cheers for the reviews. Here's more unusual scenarios. In answer to your questions Imzadi, (sorry, I was a bit vague in that chapter) In brightest day… was a cross with Green Lantern of DC Comics. The little blue chap was Ganthet, the last of the Guardians of the Universe, and the ring was the last Green Lantern Power ring. I may do a follow-up to make some more sense of that one.

* * *

**Faith, Jedi Knight**

Clad in a simple loose-fitting robe bound in place with a knotted cloth belt, Faith balanced on one hand in the centre of a forest clearing. Around her perfectly poised form orbited a myriad mixture of objects at differing speeds and altitudes; rocks, pebbles, twigs and her backpack. Her eyes were gently closed, her breathing calm and steady. Before her lay a silver cylinder about three inches thick and nine long, switches studding the side and a hook at one end.

The night's gentle rain trickled over Faith's serene features, cooling her from her exercises. The wind softly wafted through the coniferous trees that surrounded her. Save for the forest's native animal life and herself, there wasn't a living thing for dozens of miles in each direction. Her cabin was the nearest human habitation, a good twenty miles or so to the east.

Faith frowned uneasily. There was a disturbance…no, a gap in the Force. A space where there was nothing alive.

The orbiting detritus fell gently to the ground. In one swift, fluid motion, Faith flipped herself head over heels and landed nimbly in a crouch. Her lightsabre sprang into her outstretched hand, indigo-hued blade extending with a _snap-hiss_. She whirled, neatly beheading the vampire as it leapt from the trees towards her, a look of surprise upon its daemonic features before severed head and body exploded into ash.

Faith sighed, deactivating the lightsabre and clipping it to her belt. Wiping sodden locks of hair from her face, she began strapping on her backpack. It was time to call it a night.

* * *

Crossover with _Star Wars_. (Sort of) 


	3. Search Mode

**Search Mode…**

"Buffy Summers?"

"Yeah?"

Immediately, the visitor smashed in the front door to 1600 Revello Drive, one hand dipping inside its leather jacket and producing a Desert Eagle .50 handgun too fast for the eye to follow. The first shot blew apart the blonde girl's head at point blank range, and the rest of the pistol's magazine was rapidly emptied into her body.

The F-101 regarded the corpse critically for a nanosecond to ensure the target was dead, updating its command protocols.

PRIMARY MISSION OBJECTIVE: Terminate Buffy Summers — ACCOMPLISHED 

_SECONDARY MISSION OBJECTIVE: Terminate Rupert Giles_

Without even looking at the dead Slayer, the F-101 turned on its heel and left the house, expression bland beneath its aviator sunglasses.

* * *

Crossover with _The Terminator_. (Well Skynet had to have got the appearances for the Terminators from _somewhere_.) 


	4. Encounter with The Doctor

Thanks muchly for the reviews people! Here's a couple more chappies.

* * *

**Time And Relative Dimensions In Space**

Five minutes ago, Faith been waiting for an interview at InfoCast, a recently established nationwide satellite news station. She'd been hoping to get some sort of job there, possibly as a researcher. It had therefore been a considerable shock when the executive she'd been scheduled to meet came out of his office, exchanged glances with his secretary, and then proceeded to remove the skin from his face as though it were a rubber mask to reveal…something _else_, something hideous and definitely not human, beneath.

What had been even more surprising when a strange man in a leather jacket had come galloping past, seen her predicament, shoulder-tackled the now-faceless secretary and shouted at Faith to run for it. Even weirder, through having watched _Auf Wiedersehen, Pet_ in her childhood, Faith had pegged him as being from the north of England from his accent. Together they'd hurried down the fire escape, leaping the last storey into a couple of open dumpsters.

The InfoCast broadcasting building exploded, a couple of satellite uplink dishes spinning up into the air like frisbees.

Faith's new friend clambered out of the dumpster, offering her a hand and grinning manically. "Hello. I'm the Doctor, by the way."

Faith shook his hand, still half-bewildered by what had happened. "Faith. What the hell were those things? I mean, they weren't human, were they."

The Doctor grinned. "Fan-tastic! Someone who _doesn't_ put it down to being students!"

* * *

Crossover with _Doctor Who_. (Specifically, the Ninth Doctor as portrayed by Christopher Eccleston) 


	5. Girl Wonder

**Girl Wonder**

They were running fast, running hard and making damn sure not to look over their shoulders. A shadow flitted over the alleyway and 'Leggy' Lenny whimpered in fear. Big Chris and Mickey the Brick didn't bother to reproach their partner-in-crime, preferring to save the oxygen for running even faster.

If the shadow had been bat-shaped, that'd have been something different. Sure, they'd've had a bigger laundry bill, but there was something strangely timeless and reassuring about the old Bat. But ever since there'd been the new changes in this town, things had gotten too weird for words. It certainly hadn't done the general air of masculinity among the male members of the criminal underworld any good…

The alley curved gently, running along the backs of the warehouses on the corner of Fourth and Gordon, close to the docks. Mickey, who despite his moniker was in fact the brains of the gang, figured that if they could slip through between the old fish warehouse that Two Face's gang had been cleared out of last week and _Gotham Gazette_'s backup printing plant, maybe they could get across Docker Street and into the back streets, lose her in Crime Alley—

It is true that advance planning is a good idea. However, neglecting the here and now for the future can be a serious mistake, as Mickey found out when a beshadowed figure plummeted out of the sky, a batarang connecting with Big Chris' forehead. The man with the glass skull dropped like a stone, out cold. She smirked behind her domino mask, tossing her head and flicking back her long dark hair.

Mickey gulped as a foot clad in a calf-length leather boot caught Leggy in the face, the stiletto heel punching a couple of teeth out of his mouth. The moonlight somehow managed to angle down between the buildings for a second, glinting off of a golden '**R**' symbol on a small black oval background, affixed to her crimson tanktop and confirming his worst fears. Drawing out his switchblade, he made sure she saw it before very deliberately throwing it away. Maybe if she saw he was cooperating, she'd go easy on him—

As she slugged him in the face, he gave an inward sigh of relief. She had. And soon he'd be safe with the GCPD. As his vision faded to blackness, Mickey was satisfied to know that everything would be alright.

"_You done yet Faith? 'Cause Dick needs backup on Eighth and Main, STAT."_

The new Robin grinned, grabbing the nearest rope. She'd spent a coupl'a hours rigging this place a month ago, having found it made such a good bottleneck. "So what's ol' Elvis-collar got himself mixed up with _this_ time?" she asked.

"_Same old, same old. It's the Ventriloquist and Scarface and a bunch of their gang."_

Faith frowned, clambering onto the roof of the meat-packing warehouse and springing into the air, easily snagging hold of a line connected to a streetlight. "Small fry. What's he need me for, a friggin' audience or somethin'?" Shit, she hoped the gang didn't have any extra muscle.

_"There's a couple of strays bolting for it, Dick can't be in two places at once. And at least he isn't wearing green hotpants anymore."_

Faith snorted, leaping atop a particularly hideous gargoyle and surveying the view of Eighth and Main Streets for a second before moving off again. "'Sides, they look a damn sight better on me."

Laughter reached her ears and Faith could imagine Babs sitting at her computer terminal, wrapping a strand of her red hair around a pencil and taking a sip of coffee from a Batgirl mug. _"That's for sure."_

* * *

Crossover with _Batman_. 


	6. Agent

Hey guys, me again. This is a weird one.

* * *

**The Agent **

"…I just need you to look right here…thank you."

A red light flashed, and the 'Scooby Gang' blinked.

Kay collapsed his neuralyser and slipped it into his pocket. "Oh-kay, people," he said, removing his sunglasses. "You did _not_ just see a Vraxian _O'n'Laharg_-class Dreadnaught crash-land on top of the Watchers' Council Headquarters of Cleveland. That was a prototype unmanned attack helicopter of the United States Air Force. Please direct all your inquiries to their local public relations office. Thank you for your cooperation."

Shaking his head, the MiB agent stalked off over to the car where Jay was unwisely attempting to impress their latest recruit. Why Zed had insisted they bring the rookie along for this job he'd never know, especially seeing how she was only half-trained…

"…see, these buttons here are for hours, days, months, years. Just make sure you've got your shades on when it goes off."

"Cool. Mind if I take a closer look?"

Kay sighed, and redonned his Ray-Bans. Jay still had a lot to learn as well…

"Hey, can I borrow your shades, stud? Thanks."

There was another flash of red light. Agent Jay blinked.

"Hey!" Kay confiscated the neuralyser. "You don't use these things for kicks in our line of work, kiddo."

The newly-commissioned agent shrugged. "Oh, 'cmon, Kay! He was beggin' for it. 'Sides, that was one cheesy way to chat a girl up, y'know? I mean, call me ol' fashioned, but have you seen how tiny that Noisy Cricket is?"

Jay shook his head. "Hey! Don' go trying that again, else I'm gonna—"

"Slick," Kay intoned quietly. "You lost that one. Now, come on kiddies." Kay opened the driver's door. "We've got a schedule to keep." The agent then rolled his eyes as Jay and Eff began squabbling over who got to 'ride shotgun'. What had he done to deserve this?

* * *

Crossover with the _Men in Black_ films. 


	7. I hate these guys

Wotcha. I'm back, very briefly. See the end for the notes. (There're a lot of them. Sorry!)

* * *

**I hate these guys…**

The archaeologist kicked hard against the stone gargoyle, firmly gripping the handle of the bullwhip. The leather-jacketed figure described an arc through the sheets of falling rain, neatly crashing through the wooden shutters of one of the castle's windows, fedora hat miraculously staying on the whole time as a clap of thunder conveniently disguised the noise.

The archaeologist landed amidst a shower of broken glass and splinters. The broken shutters hung forlornly by their hinges. Rain and cold air whipped through the open window.

No sooner had the young woman got to her feet than a vase came crashing down on the back of her head. Stunned by the blow, she sank to one knee as her assailant stepped from the shadows.

"Junior?" Doctor Henry Jones asked tentatively.

The young woman got to her feet swiftly. "Yes, sir!" she answered reflexively, in a knee-jerk reaction long-ago ingrained and never successfully broken. Then she actually met Doctor Jones Senior's gaze.

"It is you, Junior!" said Henry, delighted.

"Don't call me that, please," Faith sighed at the old and familiar irritation. Yep, still the same old Dad.

"But what are you doing here?" Henry asked in amazement, ignoring her objection.

"I came to get you!" Faith replied. "What do you think?"

Voices sounded from outside the improvised cell's door, coming in their direction. Faith and Henry pressed themselves against the wall, the latter still holding the broken vase in his hand. A few tense seconds went by, and the voices gradually receded again as their owners passed the cell by enroute to whatever destination they had.

Faith stepped to the window and looked down and out, already considering their escape route. Nah – that was definitely not going to work as a way out. Henry moved over to a lamp, holding the ruined vase under the light for a closer look. "Late Fourteenth Century, Ming Dynasty," he mumbled to himself. "Oh, it breaks the heart."

"And the head," Faith muttered quietly to herself. "You hit me, Dad!" she said aggrievedly to Henry.

"I'll never forgive myself—" said Henry.

"Don't worry—I'm fine," Faith assured him, surprised at his apparent concern.

"Thank God!" Henry exclaimed, examining the broken end of the vase carefully. "It's fake. See, you can tell by the cross section." So saying, he threw the vase against the wall where it shattered.

"No!" Faith cringed at the noise. "Dad, get your stuff. We've got to get out of here."

"Well, I am sorry about your head, though," said Henry. "But I thought you were one of them."

"Dad, they come in through the doors," Faith sighed.

Henry chuckled at that. "Good point."

* * *

**A/N:** Crossover with _Indiana Jones_ trilogy. Weird, I know. 

To everyone who's made requests of my other series of vignettes, I'm working on one of them, but it'll be a while. I've had the bare bones of a series, the _Shattered Arrow_ series, on the workbench for quite some time. Originally I'd planned on expanding one of these shorts as a fleshed-out fic as a practice run, but…well, I think there's one that'd work as part of the _Shattered Arrow_-verse (actually there's two, but I can only really use one, and I won't give away which just yet). More on that later: the teaser for the first fic of the series is going up in a minute.

Many, many thanks to everyone who's kindly reviewed either or both of these series. I'm glad that these series, small, brief and lacking in detail though they are, have been found amusing to you all. (Which is pretty much the whole point: writing something that'll entertain people.)

Imzadi: er, are you, by any chance, _the_ Imzadi, from HonorH's _Official Buffy and Angel Fanfiction University_/OBAFU? (I can't seem to find any trace of it these days, which is disappointing. I tried going through her homepage, but I'm hopeless at web navigation – couldn't make heads nor tails of the layout. Thank goodness I copied it into a document last year whilst it was on FFDN.) Yowza. (Jack acquires a poleaxed expression as he realises he's just been reviewed several times by a major fanfic professional.) Erm, in response to one of your inquiries (I'm really sorry about the delay, but between university and being infected with bronchitis, I haven't been up to much for a while now) – Faith and Linsey as twins separated at birth…definitely one for an extreme AU fic, also a long one…maybe a lot later, it certainly sounds interesting. But with _Shattered Arrow_, uni and original fiction, it might be best if you tackled the idea – I'm going to have a lot on my plate for…say a few years or so. Hell, call it a decade.

Oh, and I'm ever so sorry about the 'Faith Xavier' fic – I did several rough cut scenes, (among other things I experimented with using the original vignette as the opening scene/chapter, Xavier's reaction to finding out about Faith's awakening from her coma by using Cerebro, using his telepathy to contact her long-distance and coaxing her into destroying the body-swap device the Mayor left for her instead of using it, jetting out to Sunnydale to aid her) and I fiddled with several plotlines.

The problem is, you see, my familiarity with the _X-Men_ milieu consists of having bought some black-and-white reprinted collected editions comprising issues published during 1979-82 (in fact, I even found the issue published the same month that my elder sister was born) and I've only got around to watching the first film – I took my best shot at the fic but didn't get anywhere.

_sighs_ I just don't have the knowledge necessary about the _X-Men_ milieu to develop the idea. If you know more and fancy a shot, then I hearilty encourage you to go for it – let me know (you can contact me at oblivion underscore 727 at fsmail dot net or oblivion727 at fsmail net - add dots for address - hope at least one of these doesn't get edited out) and I'd be interested. If you want a look at my rough cuts, let me know and I'll send 'em on over.


	8. Zero Hour 4

**Zero Hour: 4**

"It's _him!_ He just clocked Superman!"

"Never thought _he_ was mixed up in this!"

"_No_…it's not true…"

The place: New York City. The time: sixty seconds to Zero Hour.

"Holy _shit_…" Faith breathed. She'd been Green Lantern for a grand total of two weeks now. Her boyfriend, Alex, was dead, murdered by that bastard Major Force. She'd faced Ohm, Mongul – okay, she'd've been dead meat if Superman hadn't shown up to help take down Mongul. Now, Big Blue was flat out cold where the big guy in the green armour and cape had socked him one.

This was so royally screwed up…only a few hours ago, she'd arrived in New York on Force's trail only to run straight into Supes and that Metron guy with the funky flying chair. Since then, she'd been involved in some massive meet-up of dozens of superheroes. Until two weeks back, all of 'em had just been names in newspapers or on TV to her. Then she'd been teamed up with a bunch of them, and bounced around the timestream like a pinball until they reached the moment immediately after the Big Bang.

They'd fought Extant there. They'd failed. Then she, Supes, that Darkstar chick, the little Atom guy and Metron had gone on to the Vanishing Pont, home of some dudes called the Linear Men. They were s'posed to be guardians of time or somethin'. Considering how the past and the future were being gobbled up by entropy fissures until only 1994 was left, they weren't doin' too good a job of it at the moment. She and Supes had retrieved a time probe launched by some guy Metron had called Dox – Vril Dox. Who he was, she still had no idea, only that Metron and the Atom needed the probe.

Now they were back in '94, to take down the bad guy behind the fissures. Extant. She'd heard someone say he'd once been a hero. The bastard was definitely on the other side now.

'Course, only _now_ it turned out Extant was just some other guy's lackey.

"…not Green Lantern, Arrow," the green guy was saying, and Faith felt her stomach tie a knot in itself. "Not anymore. I've taken the name PARALLAX. I've seen the universe from many different directions, and I know how to _fix_ it – even if that means _destroying_ it!"

She recognised him from when that Alan Scott guy had visited, told her about the other Lanterns. It was Hal Jordan.

"The universe shouldn't be this way…"

The guy who'd been Green Lantern before her.

"It needs to be set _right!_"

"Hal!" Arrow was shouting, even as Faith took flight. "Tell me you _aren't_ the one who did this! This isn't like you. You're a good man…a _hero!_"

"That's _exactly_ why I did this, Oliver…and _no one_ is going to stop me," Jord—_Parallax_ calmly said. He looked over his shoulder at Faith. "_Beat it_, kid!" he snapped. "It's over. Your time is over. _All_ time is over. THIS IS ZERO HOUR."

* * *

Follow-up from **In Brightest Day…**, based on the events of 1994's ZERO HOUR plotline. If you haven't read it, do so – it'll blow your mind. Literally. 


	9. Stargate: XT1 Teaser

Coming to the Web on the 27th May this year is something I've been working on for more than a year now with the invaluable assistance of Joe B1451, Falling Dragon, Zylimbron25 and Sage Harper: _Stargate: XT-1_. _XT-1 _is an AU fic in which things go…very differently from canon. Below follows a teaser formed of brief clips of the first episode of the _XT-1_ series, _The Gateway Opens_. Enjoy!

_"**We are the Pilgrims, master; we shall go**_

_**Always a little further: it may be**_

_**Beyond that last blue mountain barred with snow,**_

_**Beyond that angry or that glimmering sea.**_

**from _The Golden Journey to Samarkand _by James Elroy Flecker**

**(These lines are engraved on the memorial clock tower at the**

**headquarters of 22 Special Air Service Regiment in Hereford.**

**Also engraved on the tower are the names of all members**

**of the Regiment killed in training or in action.)**

**

* * *

**

**_Stargate: XT-1 _Teaser**

Boots pounding, the platoon thundered down the corridor, speed taking priority over stealth. Captain Robert Trentford waved off Corporal Sachs' squad toward the steps leading to the control room, and signalled for Corporal Stockbridge to take his section to circle around and secure the other blast door.

Such reports as had reached the guard station had been vague: intruders in the Gateroom, shots fired, personnel down. Numbers, equipment, hell, even species – all unknown.

Trentford was relatively young, having graduated with honours from Sandhurst only five years previously and swiftly risen up the rank ladder. It was a tradition in his family that at least one man from each generation serve his country as an officer and a gentleman, although the Great War had wiped out sixteen men and boys by the name of Trentford in the trenches and left only one, Robert's great-grandfather, to continue the family line.

For his part, Robert was optimistic and rather enjoying his service, even despite the fact that he was currently stuck with the night shift guard detail. It was, in his opinion, unfortunate that the Black Watch hadn't been posted to the Gulf during the war and thus he had yet to prove himself in combat, but there was always the chance that he could get himself assigned to a United Nations peacekeeping task force in the future. And he seemed to have a golden opportunity today. Lieutenant McIntyre, the commander of Eight Platoon, had been hospitalised after an attack of appendicitis, and three other members of the platoon, including Sergeant Lennox, were on leave, necessitating Trentford, the company's second in command, to stand in as the platoon's Officer Commanding.

SA80s ready and Trentford at their head, Corporal McAllen's squad reached the easternmost blast door. At Trentford's curt hand signals, two troopers raced to the far side of the door. Carrying the squad's L86 Light Support Weapon variant of the SA80, Private Dalgliesh was the first in through the blast door, McAllen only a step behind him and Trentford with two more troopers backing them up. Across the hangar, Stockbridge's squad was breeching the other blast door.

An energy blast tore through McAllen's body armour, throwing him to the floor. Dalgliesh dove for cover behind a desk, overturned in the scientists' haste to leave the hangar, and came up firing. Trentford joined him, assessing the situation as the blast shield came down in front of the control room. At least Sachs had things under some sort of control, then.

Nine hostiles, equipped with directed-energy weapons – Trentford's common sense insisted this couldn't be possible, but his training told him to simply accept the impossible for the time being and get on with more important things – and a bunch of engineers taking casualties. By the looks of things, there was someone in a donkey jacket and an engineer being manhandled by the trio at the back of the pack and there was a strange golden glow, but between the weapons fire and dodging for cover he could neither see nor hear what was going on properly.

Trentford keyed his radio. "Stockbridge! Hold your position and give us covering fire, as soon as we've got the casualties out of here Sachs can seal the place off!"

So saying, the captain opened fire as the second four-man 'brick' of the squad fired around the gaping blast door. Dalgliesh emptied his LSW into the nearest hostile without achieving much beyond scratching the armour's paint. Across the hangar, one of Stockbridge's troopers fell as a staff blast tore into his stomach, lifting him briefly off the ground and casting him against the wall behind him. Cursing richly in his native Glaswegian brogue, Dalgliesh slammed home a fresh box magazine and fired again, raking his fire lower this time. One of the intruders dropped as his legs were cut out from beneath him, a final burst catching him in the abdomen. Another energy blast caught Private Williams in the head, liquefying flesh and the bone beneath, grey gristle spilling from the grisly wound.

Trentford vaulted the desk and dove behind a stack of crates, poking the bullpup's muzzle through a small gap and opening fire. A volley of blasts caught one of Stockbridge's troopers in the midsection, sending him sprawling with a small fire burning in his gut. This was, without a doubt, the worst tactical situation Trentford could imagine. The enemy's armour was tough – not completely bulletproof, but it was hard-going finding a weak spot – his men were short of cover and to make matters even worse, the enemy had hostages.

The enemy troops switched their focus to McAllen's – to his – squad. Making the best use possible of the doorframe, the Black Watch troopers poured fire back at the intruders. Energy blasts caught two of them and hurled them out of Trentford's sight, then another punched through the desk Dalgliesh was behind, killing the support-weapon carrier.

Reloading, Trentford came up, aiming at the nearest intruder's abdomen/groin armour. The hostile dropped. He was distantly aware of two more of the hostiles dropping from fire from Stockbridge's squad. Trentford took aim again, drawing a bead on the sod in the gold armour with the frankly disturbing gold eyes who seemed to be in charge. The bullpup assault rifle kicked against his shoulder as he opened up on full auto, and the enemy leader shouted a curse, clutching at the growing crimson patch over his stomach and sagging, his guards immediately supporting him. Another of the intruders stepped between Trentford and his target, taking the last of the clip harmlessly on his breastplate. Swearing fiercely with frustration, Trentford dropped behind his crates again and set about reloading.

There came a swooshing noise that he realised must have been that Stargate thing the scientists were working on down here – he hadn't heard it dialling over the weapons fire. Glowering fiercely, the guy in the gold armour barked another command, sealing his helmet. His guards followed suit and took up the apparently unconscious bodies, and the trio vanished through the wormhole, carrying two unconscious forms with them. The last two intruders, outnumbered and outgunned, retreated slowly, firing steadily as they walked backwards up the ramp. Another of Stockbridge's men fell, howling like a banshee as he took a shot to the lower abdomen. With that, the enemy turned and stepped through the Stargate.

The wormhole flickered once, then twice, then died away.

Trentford slumped against the crates, keying his radio again and shouting in vain for medics. He had eight dead troopers for four of the enemy.

He had tasted combat, and its flavour was bitter with death.

* * *

The patrol's boots echoed noisily throughout the hangar as they first hit the metal mesh ramp. Then, exchanging glances, they accelerated. 

By the time the patrol hit the glittering maelstrom of blue energy, they were at a run.

Sam found herself gasping, tumbling, falling through a live, twisting writhing tunnel of blue light. It was _cold_. She had never felt such cold, sinking icy fangs deep into her bones and not letting go. She couldn't see the others. She knew she had walked into _some_thing, but once in it she lost all sense of sight and touch. All she knew was that it was cold, bitter cold, and she was tumbling, falling endlessly. She was alone, she was dying, she was… Sam Carter screamed as she was pulled through the shimmering surface. She didn't mean to. She couldn't help it.

Thinking back on it later, she decided that if she couldn't hear herself scream, no one else could either.

It sounded good, anyway.

She had no idea how long she fell. She was reminded of a cartoon one of her buddies from college had scribbled during an especially dull study session: three men falling, screaming, labelled "Bottomless Pit." The second panel, labelled "Twenty Years Later," was the same three men, still falling. But now they were casually examining their fingernails, kicking back on nothingness.

She was reasonably sure it wasn't actually twenty years before she fell out of cold eternity and into somewhere else.

Her booted feet were thumping on stone steps. Sam slipped, lost her footing, and went down heavily, her bergen's weight adding to her momentum as she thumped and rolled her way off the steps and onto some very, very hard and grassy ground, completely disoriented and out of breath. Oh, great, her hip, butt and chest would be covered in bruises this time tomorrow. Somebody hissed a curse at her, and she felt herself being dragged upright by someone else, shoved forwards a few paces and flung down in front of some sort of object. Wonderful: even more bruises.

She was no longer in an artificially lighted cave in the guts of The Pit of RAF Benson, South Oxfordshire; she was outside, under waning crimson sunlight, and definitely somewhere else. Sam peered up at the sky, and her eyes widened with shock: the last time she'd seen two suns in a single sky, George Lucas had been responsible. But this was not a movie theatre, or if it was, someone forgot to clear up all the standing stones the SAS troopers were now crouched behind and using as cover.

The wormhole flickered once, then again, then vanished.

* * *

The calm of the night was shattered by a resounding thunderclap as the charges detonated. 

Inside the cell, the prisoners were startled from their uneasy sleep as great chunks of stone blew inwards. Screaming and wailing, many ran to the barred gateway, or curled up into foetal positions, hoping their demise would be quick and painless.

Atop the ramparts above, one of the sentries raised a horn to his lips to sound the alarm. The sudden, sharp retort of a heavy-calibre rifle was the last sound he heard.

Deep in the treeline, Gareth grinned as he moved to his second target. Another cartridge slipped into the breach…loaded and cocked. Finger on the trigger now…taking up the slight pressure of resistance…

Out of the corner of his eye, Gareth glimpsed the yellow line of tracers as Scudder opened up with his gimpy, heard the rattling of 203s to either side of him as the others fired on their targets. He ignored them.

A gentle squeeze.

The louder crack of the L96 sounded over the noise of staff weapons firing blindly into the night.

Another alien soldier dropped out of sight behind the ramparts.

* * *

"Jaffa, kree! Shel'ne ko velna'ta shinni'a jhorblocks!" 

Bra'tac grabbed a passing captain who was exhorting his company onwards toward the walls. "(What is happening!)" he demanded.

The captain turned towards his apparent assailant, a curse ready for whoever dared lay a hand upon him. It died upon his lips as he saw the glint of the golden tattoo of the First Prime, and immediately bowed his head in supplication. "(We are attacked, my lord!)"

"(By whom! Has Ba'al betrayed us?)"

"(I know not, Lord First Prime!)"

A sharp crack split the night, shortly followed by a scream. Bra'tac and the captain looked at each other, puzzled.

"(To the walls,)" Bra'tac quietly ordered the other Jaffa. The captain gratefully ran off in pursuit of his company.

Bra'tac snapped open his staff weapon, striding towards the walls at an almost leisurely pace. The last time he'd heard a sound like that crack, those weapons the warriors of the Tau'ri had used had created it.

Could they have come here, to the very heart of Apophis' realm, to free two of their own people? Were their strange warriors on Chulak, even now? Madness! It was suicide for them to come here.

_But what if they don't know that?_ Bra'tac wondered.

This could well be the chance he had long dreamed of.

* * *

"Down!" Ash shouted over the steady _whump-whump-whump_ of the alien fighter's strafing run. Its friend was turning back to begin another; he had to bag the first bastard now. 

His thumb went sideways and down on the activation switch as he nestled his cheekbone on the conductance bar. He was instantly rewarded with the warbling screech of the launcher's seeker unit. The aircraft howled closer, shots creeping towards him.

_Stuff this for a game of soldiers!_ he thought. The aircraft expanded in the inner ring of the sight… it was now in range. Ash punched the forward button with his left thumb, 'uncaging' the missile and giving the infrared seeker-head on the Stinger its first look at the heat radiating from whatever powered the enemy craft. The missile screamed its readiness to Ash. "Piss off!" the sergeant howled as he super-elevated his sight. The trigger jerked, almost as though pulled of its own accord.

The launcher bucked in his hands as the Stinger looped slightly upwards before dropping down to home on its target. Ash, determinedly gripping the launcher, flung himself into the treeline out of sight, landing heavily on Scudder. "Fuck off, ya dozy twat!" Scudder yelled and shoved him off as a thunderous explosion sounded, signalling the destruction of the fighter.

Ash punched the bag Scudder had slung over his back containing the spare missiles, and Scudder handed it over. "Cover me!" Ash yelled over the noise of the second aircraft screaming down on another strafing run. Scudder nodded as Ash dug out a loaded launch tube from the Allison bag, discarding the old tube and attaching the acquisition/guidance package swiftly. A quick twist removed the spent canister that had contained compressed gas, and Ash fitted a replacement.

The patrol had finally made it to the OP and Stinger cache. There was no sign yet of Ross or Froggy, and the alien fighters seemed incapable of precision strikes. That, or they just weren't used to hunting small groups. The patrol were now dug in among the trees along the ridge, overlooking the standing stone rings surrounding the Stargate. Scudder had his gimpy set up on its bipod. Sid Vicious had hold of and was extending the ammunition belt to minimise the risk of it getting kinked.

Half a dozen enemy troops emerged on the dirt trail: the gimpy snarled, spitting out spent shell casings from the ejection port and a tongue of flame from its muzzle as Scudder worked his aim back and forth, hosing them down. One enemy soldier managed to duck into cover, but had clearly never faced a heavy machinegun before; as the last of the alien's comrades on the trail fell, Scudder switched his aim and the 7.62mm rounds chewed their way through a rhododendron-like bush and the soldier sheltering behind it with ease. "Ye're ahl clear, man!" he shouted at Ash.

By now the second aircraft was halfway through its attack run, cannons spitting energy blasts until the aircraft reached the lowest point of its dive and snarled back up into the night sky. Ash stepped out of cover again, instinctively avoiding Scudder's line of fire.

The Stinger is unquestionably a very fine piece of battlefield equipment for infantrymen and this is an opinion that is relatively well known among militaries and popular fiction: however, what is less publicised is that while the weapon is of American manufacture, it was first used in battle by British troops.

Stingers first turned up in the armoury of the SAS in the Falklands War of 1982, when nobody really knew how to use them or what to do with them. A cross-decking helicopter accident before the San Carlos landings had cost the lives of twenty SAS troopers and support personnel, among them the regiment's only Stinger expert. After that, it had been more a case of "Here they are, get to grips with them." Some of the boys from D Squadron were sitting around behind their own lines a short while after the landings, having a brew-up, when over the horizon came a flight of Puccaras. One guy, popularly known as Kel, who'd been in the New Zealand SAS before joining D Squadron, had stood up and put the Stinger on his shoulder. It had been, according to the later testimony of his mates, like the kid in the old Fisher Price advert from the television: "How's this work then? What does this do?" Kel was pressing all the buttons to make the Stinger fire, which it obligingly did, whacking the aircraft straight up the tail. There'd been a huge explosion, the pilot had ejected, and the D Squadron guys had watched his parachute coming down as the Pucara exploded into the hillside. The sight had boosted morale no end, and Kel had been whooping with delight.

The story had not ended there. Two years or so later, D Squadron went over to Germany to the Stinger training centre run by the Americans. The training was in simulators because the weapon was so expensive. The American instructors only got to fire one a year at most, and had certainly never used the thing in a war.

"We've got this wonderful weapon," one of the instructors had beamed. "Any of you guys seen it before?"

Kel had put his hand up and the instructor had smirked, "In a simulator?"

"No," had come the blasé reply, "I shot down a jet with it."

That had wiped the smirk of the instructor's face pretty damned sharpish.

The tale was the stuff of regimental legend and Ash himself had just added to that legend; being the first SAS trooper to down extraterrestrial aircraft – or possibly spacecraft. Of this, Ash was oblivious as the Stinger chirped angrily in his hands and he tapped the trigger. But it would prove to be a source of amusement when down the pub with his mates later on in his life.

The missile deployed its manoeuvring fins, uncaring that Ash was leaping back into cover again, and these moved a few fractions of a millimetre in accordance to the orders generated by its computer brain – a microchip the size of a second-class stamp. The pilot never saw it coming, and the craft was reduced to a blazing airborne fireball.

Ash discarded the second launch tube, attaching the last fresh one before stuffing the Stinger back in its Allison bag. He slung the SAM across his back and grabbed his 203.

* * *

Apophis frowned. **"(What of the disposition of Ra's forces?)"**

"(**Much of his fleet has been diverted to continue the attacks into Sokar's territory,)"** said Ba'al. **"(At least two thirds of Ra's armies are assigned to the campaign. Before I left Illonax, I received word that a great fleet of Ra's ships had begun an attack on Tartarus, and an army had made planetfall upon the surface of Netu.)"**

Apophis nodded, and looked Ba'al squarely in the eye. For thousands of years, they had dedicated their lives and resources to destroying each other in their respective bids for power. But such was the way of the Goa'uld; indeed, there was a much-needed natural balance that arose from the conflict. If one Goa'uld were to rise in power above the rest then the balance would crumble and surely the Goa'uld would crumble along with it to leave only that one dominant Goa'uld to rule the entire galaxy.

And now, Ra looked set to be that Goa'uld. It was simply not possible to permit this.

**"****(Is this feasible?)"**

Apophis was surprised by Ba'al's question. **"(Can we stop Ra? Together, yes,)"** he said.

Ba'al nodded, and proffered his hand. **"(Then by all means,)"** he said, smiling, **"(let us discuss the nature of our…alliance.)"**

Apophis solemnly grasped Ba'al's hand in a warrior's handshake, wrists clasped. This day would see the course of history change forever.

It was perhaps unfortunate that neither Goa'uld would get the chance to fully understand how this would become true.

* * *

The buildings of the Goa'uld nobility of Chulak, whilst for the most part simple, were cunningly constructed to provide a solid, dependable structure as well as presenting something of aesthetic value. Within the city, the noble houses of the Goa'uld formed an inner sanctum, around which the Jaffa had to make do with suitably humbler dwellings, constructed from simpler and more cheaply available materials. 

The plaza was truly vast, its cobbled grounds now packed beyond capacity with human slaves and Jaffa alike. Before the crowd stood the great palace of their god. Many ranks of warriors of his Serpent Guard were at the steps and upon the ramparts.

Upon the wide stone balcony high above, various priests and lesser gods had gathered. A party of the High Priests themselves had arrived, shrouded in dark cloaks and hoods, ceremonial staffs in hand as they took up their positions in the pulpits that jutted out from the balcony. A Crystal of Farseeing was upon the central dais, which protruded from the balcony in the middle of the priests' pulpits. In the skies above, three of Apophis' mighty golden chariots hovered, a visible sign of the power of their god.

Across dozens of star systems, upon almost two hundred worlds, a silence descended upon the viewers of this historic occasion as their two great gods emerged from the palace and stepped onto the dais. They looked truly divine, as indeed they were, clad in armour, cloaks of fine silks about their shoulders.

Apophis opened his mouth to speak—

"SHAKE OUT!"

The unfamiliar words of the alien language were screamed by the High Priest to Apophis' left.

Robes and hoods were flung back. Staffs were discarded, and strange weapons were raised.

And then the balcony above erupted into the fire and the wrath of a godless people.

* * *

The first chapter will be posted on the 27th/28th of May under the TV Shows/Stargate SG-1 section. See you there! 

Jack

Postscript: please note that speech in brackets denotes that a language other than English is being spoken. Speech in bold means that a Goa'uld is speaking.


End file.
